


Blaze of Glory

by nevadafighter



Category: Emergency!
Genre: 1950s, Angst, Brief descriptions of m/m sex, Character Study, Class Issues, Community: smallfandombang, First Time, Internalized Fatphobia, Internalized Homophobia, Multi, Origin Story, Original Character(s), Pre-Series, Slice of Life, army life, briefer descriptions of m/f sex, period appropriate classism, period appropriate sexism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-30
Updated: 2018-04-30
Packaged: 2019-04-22 05:33:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,732
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14301879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nevadafighter/pseuds/nevadafighter
Summary: A young Hank Stanley joins the service and leaves his home in the California desert, in the hopes of lessening his family's financial strain. While learning to fight fires in post-war Germany, he has a one night stand with a bold young man and realizes that his disinterest in women isn't a fluke. He also begins an affair with an officer's undesirable daughter and comes to believe he can hide his true nature from prying eyes, and sell himself as a normal man living a normal life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Small Fandom Big Bang.](https://smallfandombang.livejournal.com/)

_Coachella Valley_

The boisterous din of merrymaking teenagers fell back to nothingness as Hank watched his mother’s face crumple in the midday sun. She bit her lip and pressed a gloved fist to her pastel-pink painted mouth. Hank winced as the color stained the bright white cotton. More work for Ma to do later, another expensive hand-me-down to wash. Maybe she could sneak it in with one of her customer’s loads, make it part of the work day. 

Pop didn’t look much better. The color drained from his thin, drawn face, and he gaped at Hank so long a magpie could have set up shop in his open mouth.

Hank’s siblings frowned and shuffled uncomfortably. The eldest, Charlotte, leaned heavily against her new husband and glared hotly at Hank. His older brother Franklin shook his head and reached for Ma. 

Only little brother Michael seemed to think Hank’s announcement was a good thing. “Gee! That sounds exciting! More exciting than climbing date trees all summer, that’s for sure.”

“There’s nothing exciting about war,” their baby sister Susan snapped.

Michael recoiled slightly, then turned wide eyes to Hank. “Hey… do you think you’ll have to go to war?”

Hank smiled, glad to answer a question that might set his family at ease. “The Korean war’s been over for a couple years now, Michael.” Hank looked up at Pop. “I wouldn’t have joined the Army if I thought I’d be shipped off to war.” He looked at his mother. “This way, you have one less mouth to struggle to feed. I’m eighteen now. I should be fending for myself.”

“You’re just a baby,” Ma said.

“My feet hurt,” Charlotte said. “I want to get off this football field.”

“Hank didn’t say bye to his friends, yet. If they’re all going to college, he might not get another chance,” Michael said.

Everyone glared at Michael.

“I’m gonna be back eventually,” Hank growled.

“Running away isn’t the answer to our problems,” Pop said. “You can come with me, we can find work together. And you aren’t hard to feed, son. You’re no burden.”

Hank pressed his lips together. He looked to the bright desert sky, pale blue and drier than sand, and waited for his tears to evaporate before facing his family again. “Pop. I’ve already signed the contract. I’m going to eat sandwiches with you all tonight, I’m going to pick up my diploma from the office in the morning, and then I’m going to report to my recruiter in two days. I thought about this for a long time - ever since my birthday. Before that, even. But I’ve been planning since then. It’s done. I’m joining the Army.”

“But Henry, what about summer vacation?”

Hank wrinkled his nose. “Ma, summer vacation just means less book work and more back breaking labor. If I’m gonna do that, I’m gonna let Uncle Sam feed and house me, and I’m gonna get paid more than what these stingy rich folks around here want to put out.”

Tony, Hank’s new brother-in-law, was the first to break the sudden silence. “Amen. I think you’re gonna do swell, Henry.” He grabbed Hank’s hand and shook it vigorously. “But before you go, we’ve got to get you home to celebrate the end of high school!” Everyone pasted on pale copies of the smiles they’d been wearing before Hank blurted his confession and ruined the mood, and together they marched off the football field, towards the tiny bungalow they shared in the middle of nowhere, a half day’s march outside of Palm Springs.

* * *

A banner made of old, wrinkled butcher paper was tacked to the awning of their rented house. Wax crayon printed in neat, blocky letters announced their middle son’s grand achievement: _Congratulations Henry Stanley Class of 1956_. A pair of balloons hung from corners of the tatty banner, and the jangle of electric guitars piping through AM radio sparked the dry hot air. His kid siblings snapped their fingers and skipped and hopped away from the group, called to the newfangled sound like lemmings to the sea. Big sister and her hubby chuckled, but he was bopping his head, and she was snapping her fingers to the beat. Even Pop looked like he wanted to dance - but he’d always liked music, any kind of music. No one was surprised when he’d run out and bought a pressing of Heartbreak Hotel with his summer raise, and everyone pretended to believe him when he said it was for the kids.

Hank didn’t care much either way about the new sound on the radio. He didn’t care about banners and public announcements, either. The party, the music, the display that faced the street, these things were more for his family than himself. But he smiled a little harder and pulled Ma in close and kissed her right out there on the street. The celebration wouldn’t do his family any good if they didn’t think he liked it, and he needed to make sure everyone got every wonderful little thing they could out of the afternoon. He wouldn’t be around anymore - one less mouth to feed, yes, but they’d also be short a working body, and none of the other kids were ever quite as conscientious as Hank. 

Of course, none of the other kids ever seemed particularly bothered by all the moving around and scrounging for work that had to be done, either. Only Hank ever seemed to notice the knife’s edge they all teetered on. Maybe it was his age - too young to simply get out there and help at first, too old think this was just how it was. His memory was hazy, more of an impression than the clear cut recall of thumbing all over the southwest, but it was there. There had been a home once, one that they didn’t have to scrimp and save to keep, one in a neighborhood that didn’t scream Dust Bowl Scroungers.

Ma was watching him again, and Hank knew that his worries showed on his face. He forced a laugh and swept her up in a bear hug, and whisked her onto the porch and into the house. No more worrying for either of them today. Sandwiches and punch and no more homework!

There were more balloons inside, just dropped willy nilly. They were on the second hand couch, in the potted palm Pop had rescued from one of the farms, on the table (with the sandwiches, no less), on the cart with the transistor radio, and all over the floor. The two young ones were kicking them around like little fluffy soccer balls and dancing to the latest Bill Haley song. 

Hank plopped on the couch and watched his family dance and sing and laugh. Even at home, Hank played the role of wallflower to a tee. There was no longing to join the ruckus, though. He was comfortable watching the party unfold like a play, happy simply to watch the people he loved be happy for him.

Charlotte nuzzled her husband, and Hank’s warm contentment chilled a bit. He liked Tony, he really did, and he was truly happy for his sister, but… it wasn’t fair. He’d been slowly cut out of his big sister’s life as they’d grown, and he hadn’t been interested in following along behind his big brother for companionship. He hadn’t been interested in trying to figure out the strange magnetism his brother’s friends had, or the fact that no one else seemed to go dreamy around any of them - no one except his big sister.

“What if there _is_ a war?”

Hank jumped and turned to look at Michael. Young, goofy, impressionable Michael. Hank had always expected Michael to take off after Frank, but Michael stayed right under Hank’s feet. If you wanted to find Hank, just ask Michael was the running joke. Even when he’d run off to do something silly and childish with Susan, somehow Hank would find himself dragged along to watch. And now Michael sat panting next to Hank, while Susan leaned heavily against Michael, and they watched him with wide eyes. “What if there’s a war, Hank? Will you have to fight?”

Hank wrinkled his brow. “Probably, if I’m still contracted for service. But I’m not too worried about that. And you shouldn’t either.”

“Told ya,” Susan said, and drooped off to bother Frank and Pop.

Michael scooted in closer to Hank, until Hank could smell the Vaseline in his brother’s hair and the mustard on his breath. “I don’t want you to go to war, Hank,” he whispered. “You’re too gentle.”

Hank bristled. “Gee, thanks, Mike.”

Michael nudged Hank gently. “Don’t be sore. You’re not a meathead like Franklin. You’re not even feisty like Charlotte. You’re like me.”

“Like you.”

“Sure… you know…”

“No, I’m afraid I don’t.”

Michael’s cheeks turned a deep crimson, and he looked away. “Never mind. Hey! We should get some envelopes, so we can write to you while you’re in training. And some stamps. We need stamps.” He jumped up and ran off, leaving Hank to puzzle the mysteries of the universe.

Charlotte and Tony danced cheek to cheek, softly kicking balloons out of the way as they waltzed into Hank’s line of sight. Ma and Pop watched the dancing couple with blissful smiles, probably lost in memories of life in Nebraska, before the wind kicked black clouds that blocked the sun and choked the life out their town. Hank was glad they’d found their happiness again, glad his sister had a chance at the same kind of joy. But he was sick of the unspeakable cloud that darkened his own life, the certainty that he wouldn’t be finding that kind of joy for himself.

He wouldn’t wish that kind darkness on his worst enemy. And now he was rubbing off on his kid brother. He had to get the hell out of Palm Springs. 

* * *

_Barstow_

Hard work and discipline came hard to most of the ragtag group of desert bums at the training compound, but it didn’t faze Hank in the slightest. Private Stanley was used to long hours in the hot sun, picking dates and clearing brush and hefting bushels on the local date farms. Running around a bunch of bungalows with a rucksack on his back was nothing.

What didn’t come so easily was avoiding the crass talk during what little down time they had. It seemed like everybody had a girl back home, and all the girls were exactly the kind of girl no boy would think of marrying. A few of them even showed up on the weekends, wearing tight skirts that wouldn’t let them walk if it wasn’t for the obscene slit halfway up the thigh, deep cut blouses that showed a peekaboo of the satin and lace contraptions that held up their assets, and bright ruby red lipstick that usually wound up smeared on the privates faces (and sometimes uniform collars, if they were stupid).

Hank had visitors, too, but they were named (at one point or another) Stanely, and none of them wore revealing clothing or bright lipstick. Susan did wear a beautiful red dress that had belonged to one of the well off little girls Ma chased after between loads of laundry and stacks of dishes the first time they came, but after the third lecherous trainee asked to be introduced to his VERY little sister, Hank decided Susan should keep her pretty things for school dances and wear her usual dull cotton shifts when she came to visit. After that, the boys respectfully kept their distance while he entertained his family, and told him what a lucky girl Susan was to have three protective brothers, and how they’d be protective of a sweet girl like her too. They’d be protective dates, too, just in case he was wondering. He wasn’t. They reminded him anyway. 

It was a relief to be shipped to Germany at the end of training. The never ending angling to get permission to ogle his little sister was infuriating, and the big sad eyes Ma made every time she came to visit chipped a little more at his emotional armor. He was nearly at his wits end when the order came through that he’d made the cut. Four years away from the desert, away from his well meaning but hovering family, away from the pimply scrawny tumbleweeds that wanted nothing more apparently than to get into Susan Stanley’s knickers. 


	2. Chapter 2

_Munich_

The men in Germany were an entirely different breed from the boys in basic training. They all had pictures from girly magazines and cheesecake calendars pinned by their bunks - Susan wouldn’t have been a blip on their radar. The couple other rubes that made it to the Rhine with him were just as surprised by the sheer raunchiness of the seasoned soldiers as Hank was at first. But they acclimated soon enough, and they forgot about his sister quickly.

They had good reason to forget a sweet child like Susan. There were plenty of local girls with various endowments, nearly all of whom were ready for a good time. And they loved to practice their bawdy English on the American soldiers. The dirtier the vocabulary, the better.

Hank learned all of this second hand, of course. He was more interested in his assignment: the fire brigade. He’d never given firefighting a moment’s thought back home - he thought he’d learn to shoot and guard the front lines or something like that. But the idea of being able to save people from fire, to be able to tame the blistering beast that could ravage a town in minutes? Oh, he would never have to worry about being useful to anyone ever again. He put aside the notion of becoming a career warmonger, and set himself to the task of firefighting.

His dedication to work rather than the pursuit of sex didn’t make him into a pariah. The men simply pegged him for a good little religious boy who just needed a little loosening up. It worked for Hank. No one asked him about his escapades (or why he didn’t have any), but no one left him out of the conversations, either. They respected him and his wishes, and he was happy to leave things at that.

Only, the men weren’t so happy to leave things at that. On a three day furlough, his platoon had gone to a great deal of trouble to secure a room and several local girls for them all to enjoy, but they’d done so with the intent that _one_ of the girls should appeal to Hank. He could enter the army a virgin, but he sure as hell couldn’t end his first tour as one. The men in his company would be doing him a grave disservice not to help a good guy out, after all.

Most of the girls who’d shown up were game - they weren’t hookers, as he’d first thought, but they might as well have been. They’d been around the block - probably a few times, judging by the way they draped themselves all over the other men without a care for the lack of privacy. If Hank had actually been the religious type he’d been pegged, he might have dropped dead in the middle of the rousing ‘party’.

One lone girl, a short, round, raven haired, red faced little dumpling of a girl, kept her distance from the sexcapades. She looked at Hank shyly a few times, but she seemed content to sit apart from everyone - Hank included. At first, he intended to let the girl have her privacy, but as the kissing and groping went on, boredom and a queer kind of loneliness pushed him to reach out to her. He approached the girl slowly, hands up and eyes wide, and sat next to her. “Sprechen Sie Englisch?”

“Better than they do,” she said with a perfectly clear Texan twang. ’I’m an army brat."

Hank couldn’t help the little jump that jerked him back. “What are you doing with them?”

The girl smirked and shrugged. “They’re nicer to me than the other American girls. They say I should talk to their brothers, they all want little fat German wives to raise little fat German babies for them. And I am mostly German, so I could probably do it, too.”

“But you’re here.”

Another shrug, another smile, this one a little sadder. “Bring the Major’s daughter. The grunt might like a nice shy little American girl from the Bible belt, and she doesn’t have to marry your brothers with her eyes closed.” She looked at the floor again. “The boys in the barracks think I can’t hear. Or I’m not smart enough to get it. Or something.”

Hank felt sorry for the girl - not just because people talked over her like she wasn’t there, but because they were wasting her time and energy. “Girls don’t really interest me at all, actually. I’m just doing this so I don’t have to hear them worry about my… ‘needs’ anymore. It’s irritating.”

“You’re the grunt?” The girl looked him up and down, and her face seemed to get redder. “But you’re so-” She snapped her mouth shut and looked at the near orgy playing out in the dimly lit room.

“I’m so what?”

She shifted uneasily. “Appealing,” she finally said.

“Oh!” He chuckled. “You like me?”

She shrugged and got to her feet. “I should go.” She pointed out a well endowed redhead who’d managed to get herself wrapped around two soldiers at once. “Monika is a real riot with the boys, but she’s a sweet girl. She’ll make it quick if that’s what you want.”

“Wait, wait, don’t go yet. I’m not so good at… Listen, girls don’t really go for me, so I kinda want to make this conversation last.”

The girl looked at him like he had three heads. “Girls don’t… you musta got dropped on your head in basic training. All the girls talk about the tall private in the fire brigade. The army brats, the local girls - even my _mother_ talks about you.”

Hank blinked, nonplussed. 

“I should go,” the girl said again, but she didn’t move.

“I’m a virgin,” Hank blurted.

“Yeah, I gathered.”

“Um… wanna… help me with that?”

The girl laughed. “Monika is the one with the bright red hair and the big tits. The tits are real. The hair’s a wig. She says she has thin yellow hair under there, so don’t pull the wig.”

Hank didn’t even look at the bodies undulating next to him. “Bet your hair is real.”

The girl laughed. “It is. So are the tits and the thighs and the belly.”

Hank let his eyes move down the girl’s ample body. The tits did nothing for him, nor did the dress. But he reached out and put his hand on her thigh, and realized that yes, he could work with this. He moved his hand up her side, and slid around to her back, then pulled her closer. She was warm and oh so soft, like a living teddy bear. He leaned down and sniffed her hair. It smelled good, like a good old American shampoo. It reminded him of his Charlotte, who, before settling down with Tony, had always kept company with lean, tough farm boys. Hank looked at the tangle of bodies in one corner of the room, and found Monika wrapped around yet another soldier, while still another moved behind her, as if to make her the filling in a human sandwich.

He felt the plump girl shift against him, and looked back at her. “I should go,” she said one last time. She didn’t move.

“What’s your name?”

“Gretchen.”

“I’m Hank.” He gave her a little squeeze, and relished the soft warmth. “If you want to go, I can walk you somewhere, if you want. Or… maybe… we could…” His face grew warm. He couldn’t make himself continue.

Gretchen laughed a little. “I take it Monika isn’t your type?”

Hank grunted. “She seems a little… forceful, I guess. I like to be in charge.” He’d had no idea how he felt about domination and sex up to that moment, but the moment the words shaped his tongue, he knew they were true. He didn’t have the slightest idea how to go about making it happen yet, but he knew he would take lead in whatever he did behind closed doors.

“That’s no surprise - I thought most guys liked to be in charge anyway. But you’re not making any demands,” she said.

“Okay, well, in that case, I demand you huddle in the closet with me until we divest each other of our virginity. Hop to it!”

Gretchen’s snort was decidedly unladylike, and it was loud enough to interrupt the debauchery in the middle of the room. A brief silence was followed by lewd, rowdy cheering. “Oh, lord,” she said softly. “Now they’re gonna think we’re a thing.”

“Would that be so bad?”

She looked up at Hank, and stared at him as if the thought had never crossed her mind. “You do know they’re gonna give you hell, right? For making it with a fat girl.”

“Oh, they already give me hell, Gretchen. And if I don’t do the deed with somebody tonight, they’ll probably hang me from the flagpole by the skivvies I’m in!”

“But it doesn’t have to be _me_.”

Hank sighed and dropped his arms. “Well, no. Not if you don’t want it to be.” He looked back at the tangle of arms and legs in the middle of the room, and cringed slightly. There was nothing for it but to face the writhing bodies on the floor. Maybe he could slide into the mess and pretend to get off on one of the girls. Except… god, he didn’t want to touch a bunch of people with his clothes off, and he didn’t want to roll around in their sweat, and he didn’t want his first time to be a damned orgy. Maybe he could pull one of the girls aside.

“Hey,” Gretchen said softly behind him. “Hank.”

“Hm.” He kept his back to her.

“Maybe you could walk me back to the base first. Before… you know.”

He turned to her and smiled gently. “Sure. Let’s go.” 

They left the seedy hostel hand in hand, and went out to the street. The air was biting cold, and Hank drew his jacket collar up around his neck. Then he noticed the girl next to him shivering in her thin sweater, and reluctantly took off his jacket to drape over her shoulders. She looked up in surprise, but he just gave her a closed lip smile, and hoped his chattering teeth weren’t too obvious.

“You’re a nice man, Hank. You should wait for a nice girl. Don’t let them goad you, okay?”

“I met a nice girl tonight,” Hank said. “Don’t need to wait for that. Need to wait for a girl who’d like to have me.”

They cut across the narrow cobblestone walkway in silence. A cold breeze whipped between the few standing centuries old buildings, and chilled Hank to the very bone. He was tired and disappointed and irritable, and surprised by his own ego. This little fat meatball of a girl had turned him down, and she wasn’t having any of it, and he didn’t even particularly want to sleep with her himself. But he was a soldier in the United States Army, and she was an outcast, and she didn’t want him. 

They entered one of the open marketplaces, dominated by a fountain that seemed unaffected by the shambles of post war West Germany. Gretchen went to the fountain and sat at its edge. “Give me just a second. My feet don’t like these shoes.” She looked around, and then sat up straight. “Actually,” she said, shrugging out of his jacket, “we’re so close to the base, I think I can make it okay the rest of the way.”

Hank blinked. “You don’t want me to walk you to the base? I don’t have to walk you to your front door or anything, if you’re worried about me knowing where you live…” When she didn’t answer, he took his jacket from where she clutched it in her lap. “Suit yourself,” he said, and turned on his heel.

He started to head for the hostel again, but the thought of everyone cheering for an encounter that neither happened nor would have done much for his social standing even if it had, sent him off on an adventure of his own making. He headed for the train station, with no destination in mind, just a need to escape.

The next departing train was headed south, for Switzerland. He’d spent his whole life traveling up and down the Colorado River, until they’d moved west towards Palm Springs. When he’d gone to basic training, he was sent just a few miles down the road to the desert, before being packed up in an all fired hurry for Munich. But once he’d arrived in Germany, the furthest he’d gone was honestly to the dirty hostel he’d just left. A shiver that had nothing to do with the cold tingled up and down Hank’s back as he thought about passing through another country without so much as a howdy-do. He hadn’t joined the Army just trade one set of walls for another. He’d wanted adventure, a chance to see something different, something that might change him.


	3. Chapter 3

_Zurich_

Where the ravages of war still haunted Munich, Zurich shone as a monument to modern prosperity. The people didn’t huddle together in suspicious clumps, and they didn’t eye his uniform with a strange mixture of resentment and hope. They ignored him, mostly - too busy getting on with their lives to take note of an out of place American soldier. Theirs was a world of magnetizing prosperity, a world that attracted anyone with the means to get to the city. If the U.S. Army wanted to let their little boys wander into the Swiss enclosure, it was no business of theirs. The indifference his uniform inspired made it all the more striking when one young man stared at him from a shop window. Hank paused, rooted to the spot by the man’s earnest gaze. He looked around, trying to see if maybe there was someone else the man was staring at, but the people on the street flowed around him like water around a rock.

After a moment, the young man moved away from the small group of friends gathered around him, out of view of the window, and appeared on the street. Hank watched, mesmerized, as the fellow closed the gap between them. The man was small, almost as small as a woman, but his strong jaw and heavy brow gave him a quiet solidity. He smiled sweetly at Hank. “American?” 

“Yes, sir.”

“You come from Munich?” The young man’s accent was thick, but his words were clear.

“Uh, I’m stationed there, yeah. You, uh, you been to the base?”

The young man shook his head. “American men don’t like men like me.” He shrugged. “I like your uniform. I want to look. I want to make one for my… friends.”

Hank frowned. “Why wouldn’t American men like men like you? I thought the Swiss were supposed to be neutral…?”

The man laughed. “There are American men like me, I’m sure, but I don’t think they would be allowed to wear this uniform. I think they would beat up a man like me in this uniform.”

“And what’s a man like you?”

The young man stepped back, and said, quite loudly, “One that would get on his knees to lick you.”

Hank’s mouth dropped open, and his face burned hot. He stared at the bold young man, while his brain scrambled to find a response that didn’t involve a lot of squeaking or stuttering.

The man’s friends soon joined him on the street, and began chattering at and around him in French. He chuckled at a few things they said, but he kept his eyes on Hank. He licked his lips and ran his hand through the long, unruly bangs that fell over one eye.

Hank found himself straightening out his uniform and moving closer to the group. Everyone quieted and looked at him suspiciously - everyone but the gamine little fellow who’d spoken so boldly. He looked up at Hank with the same little smirk and waited.

“Nobody’s beat me up yet,” Hank said.

The man looked up at him with a gaze that could split diamonds, and only patriotic pride kept Hank from staggering back under the intensity. He tugged on his uniform, set his jaw, and reminded himself that he was a man trained to shoot human beings and run towards blazing infernos. One flirtatious little boy in the middle of a busy street was no threat.

“Hey,” one of the other youths said, and Hank was surprised to find the group watching him warily. “No trouble,” the new boy said, though the nervous fist clenching and heavy breathing seemed to indicate otherwise.

“No trouble,” Hank said, and looked each youth in the face, until he locked eyes with the firecracker who’d started it all. “Right? You want something better than trouble, right?”

The young man smiled, revealing a mouth full of big, white teeth, all squeezed together like there wasn’t quite enough room in his mouth to house them all. “Go to the cafe,” he said, and touched a button on Hank’s jacket. “I want a different snack.”

The protective fellow said something in rapid fire French, but Hank’s new friend waved him off with a languid response. Then he touched Hank’s arm. “We go?”

Hank hesitated. “What’d you tell your friend?”

The protective one spoke up. “If he comes back bleeding, we go to Munich.”

Again, Hank’s jaw dropped. “I only fight in self defense,” he stammered.

“We go,” the smaller man repeated impatiently. “I trust you.”

“One more thing,” Hank said. “I have no money, so if you wanna be paid, I have to turn you down.”

The young man shook his head. “I don’t want money. I want to look at your uniform. I want to…” He frowned then, and looked at his friends.

“Fuck,” the protective one said blandly.

“Fuck.” There was a world of difference in an offer of vocabulary, and an offer of action, like the difference between a match and a roman candle. Hank knew it, his suitor knew it, his suitor’s friends knew it. Even if they didn’t all know the words, they knew what he meant, and that he wouldn’t be dissuaded from going off with the strange American. 

Hank was nearly giddy with the thought of disrobing the little man, of seeing what lay underneath the baggy coat and pants that nearly swallowed him whole. For the first time, he let himself imagine touching a strange man’s body, and heat flooded him in a rush that left him swaying. “Lead the way, friend,” he said, and was surprised by the warm, furred quality of his own voice. 

* * *

The hotel room was so small that Hank thought if he laid on the floor and stretched, he could touch every wall. It was clean though, and the bed, which at nearly twice the width of his standard issue bunk, took up most of the available floor space. It made the room look positively decadent.

They had been silent since breaking away from the boys on the street - even paying for the room had been a silent affair, where Hank waited outside of the lobby before his new friend fetched him. Now that they were alone, and the moment was upon them, Hank found his voice had dried up and withered away, carried off on the wind of nervous anticipation.

His companion seemed far more at ease, and set about opening shutters, drawing curtains, and turning down the bed before finally turning his attention to Hank. “So,” he said with a sly smile. “How do you like it?”

Hank looked around at the room, choked on the dust in his throat, and shrugged.

The other fellow cocked his head. “Not the room. This.” A gesture between them, a small waggling of impossibly long fingers. “How do you like it, fast? Hard? Soft?”

Hank hoped the fine tremor that started down his back wasn’t terribly obvious. “I…”

His companion’s face softened. “You’re new.”

“I guess,” Hank managed to choke out.

“You can do it the same way if I was a girl. I don’t mind.”

Hank laughed a little. “Uh…”

Understanding dawned. “You’re very very new!”

Hank dropped down onto the edge of the bed and covered his face with his hands. “This is ridiculous.”

His hands were soon pulled from his face, and impossibly long fingers interlaced with his own. His companion stood there, smiling warmly at him. “After today, you will not be new. You let me have a soldier, and I will give you your manhood.” 

* * *

Hank had always wished his mother had given him the talk. He’d over heard her giving it to his sister, and wondered why he’d had to listen to his father fumble and stutter a string of contradictions that left Hank afraid to even think about being naked with another person. 

Now, on the train back to Munich, Ma’s words rang clear and true in his head. You don’t forget your first time. Things will fade. Details will blur. But you don’t forget the important parts, the primal parts. 

Already the bulk of the hotel room was lost to time - the walls were light, but he couldn’t really say if they were tan or beige or eggshell, he couldn’t tell if they were painted or colored plaster or wallpapered. He knew they were close, but that was only because it made for a closer communion with his bed partner, a surprisingly pleasant touch.

He remembered the slide of skin on skin, the press of a hard, flat body to his own hard, flat body, the juxtaposition of soft, smooth lips and rough, calloused fingertips. 

He couldn’t recall the exact sound of the man’s voice - and young though he was, he was a _man_ , not a boy, just as Hank was no longer a boy, and what a surprise it was to find that this minor, unspoken, almost undetectable shift in the self was significant exactly _because_ it was detected - but he could remember with ease the intense swell of _feeling_ that washed him every time his bed partner spoke. 

He didn’t remember disrobing completely, but he knew he had because his partner admitted, in the brief afterglow they shared, that the uniform hadn’t been necessary after all.

He didn’t remember feeling the earth shake when his body tensed and released. But he already wanted to find another strong, trim, confident man to press close to himself, and he could feel a now familiar ache starting in his thighs. 

Hank squeezed his eyes shut and forced himself to think about what might happen if his battalion found out where he’d gotten off to. Almost instantly, his arousal died - Hank was not a fan of pain, and a beating absolutely did not appeal to him in the least. 

With that understanding came a strangled, frustrated realization. As far as his battalion was concerned, he was the same virgin he’d been when they’d dragged him to the party. Only now he had an internal understanding of the looks they shared when a local fraulein sashayed past them, an understanding that became painfully obvious to him when a handsome young man accompanied his very smitten lady friend onto the train. Hank sighed. He was going to have to become an actor, and fast.


	4. Chapter 4

_Munich_

The walk from the platform was peaceful. Though it wasn’t particularly late, most souls were already warm and cozy in their rooms, shuttered away from the post war ruins. The few people still in the streets smiled quiet, secret smiles, but they kept to themselves. Hank smiled back and wondered if they could tell where he’d been in his uniform, if the ethereal change he could but couldn’t identify shone bright for everyone else to see. Or maybe they simply assumed he’d been out chasing skirts because what else would the young American soldier be doing heading to base at such an hour?

He got to the main plaza just outside the base, and paused. A lone figure sat near the broken fountain, hunched over in the moonlight. Hank was tired and wanted to lay down, but his two day furlough meant he didn’t have to rush back to the base to stay in his sergeant’s good graces. And he couldn’t just walk away from the hunched figure cowering in the dark without checking. 

He gave the person a fairly wide berth, and approached from the side. “Are you alright?”

The figure unfurled a bit and twisted to look up at him. “Oh,” she said a bit breathlessly. “Hello, Hank.”

Hank frowned and came closer. “Hello, Gretchen.” He sat down, careful not to crowd her. “I thought you were going back home. Are you alright?”

She smiled weakly before quickly turning away. “Sure,” she said. Her voice warbled, and and she sniffled.

“Did someone bother you?” Hank felt his ire spike, and he pressed in closer.

She shook her head vigorously, before scrubbing her eyes with her too long sweater sleeves. “No, no. It’s silly.” She sniffed and tried another smile. “I’m okay Hank, really.”

Hank frowned and put an arm around her. “Well I would feel better escorting you home. I don’t like the idea of a young lady being out this long without someone to watch out for her.”

“Oh, nobody will bother me. I’m not the bothering kind.”

“You’re a vulnerable young woman by herself, preoccupied with some unknown problem. That makes you very much the bothering kind, Gretchen. I’m not leaving you alone out here, and that’s that. If you don’t want me here, then you’re going to have to walk me back to the base, because I’m not going to bed without you.”

She laughed at that, until a sob escaped, and then slapped both hands over her mouth. Hank could just make out the muffled oath she whispered into her sweater hands.

“Hey,” he said. “That didn’t come out right. I’m sorry.”

She gave up the pretense of not crying. “What if that came out exactly the way I wanted it to?”

“What do you mean?”

She shrugged and sniffled and sobbed a little longer. “I mean I’m probably gonna be an old maid and die a virgin, and I passed on my one chance to at least see what everyone is talking about, because I thought I wanted to be with someone special the first time. But anyone who looks twice at me is fucking special,” she wailed.

“You’re wishing we’d had sex,” Hank said blandly. She nodded and twisted her whole body away from him. He sighed and leaned closer, resting his chin on the top of her head. “I can understand wanting to save it for someone special, though,” he said. “I think that’s nice. And you’re a real pretty girl. You’ll meet someone one day.”

She huffed. “I don’t think it’s so nice right now. If I could go back, I would be all over you.”

Hank nearly choked on his laughter. “Thank you?”

She shrugged. “It’s just the truth.”

Hank kissed the top of her head, and squeezed her pityingly. He wondered if he’d have been satisfied with her, if she’d have been satisfied with him. He wondered if she’d have found him bland and disappointing, if he’d have been able to keep it up for her. He wondered if he was as broken as he thought he might be, or if he could live a normal life with a nice girl. 

He wondered if he should make the offer again.

“I guess I should go home,” Gretchen said softly. 

“Okay,” Hank said just as softly.

She twisted in his arms and he leaned back to look into her eyes. They were puffy and bloodshot and made her look like she’d been stung by a whole beehive. He wiped at the track of tears that streamed down her cheeks, and then kissed her forehead softly. She smiled slightly, before surging up to capture his mouth in a demanding kiss. 

Kissing Gretchen in Munich wasn’t much different than kissing the handsome stranger in Zurich.

All at once, desire flooded Hank, a warm rush that made him giddy and hot and just a little impatient. He squeezed her ample body close to his. It was a very different experience - not bad, just different. He decided he needed to experiment a bit, to see if maybe he _could_ live a normal life. 

“Sorry,” Gretchen said when they parted, and she tried to pull away from his arms.

Hank squeezed her close again. “If I ask you to spend the night with me, are you going to turn me down again?”

She looked at him suspiciously. “I… why?”

“Because I’m thinking of asking again. But I don’t want to be shot down again. So. Should I ask? Or should I just walk you home?”

She smiled shyly and shrugged. “You can ask.”

Hank didn’t ask. He just led her back to the hotel where his friends had tried to deflower him, and spent what little pocket change he had on Gretchen’s dreams and his curiosity. 

* * *

The hotel room was much larger, the bed was much softer, and the staff was far gentler than the one in Zurich.

Just like Gretchen.

Hank was surprised that he was just as nervous following Gretchen into the room as he’d been with the Swiss stranger. Had his encounter counted for nothing?

She turned down the bed and flicked off the light before Hank could get the door shut. “I can’t see where I’m going, Gretchen.”

“Put your hands out and walk forward. I’ll grab you.”

Hank laughed and did as he was told, but when he felt her fingers lace through his, he pulled free and turned the light back on.

“Hey!”

“I want to see what I’m doing, Gretchen.”

She shrank back a little and clutched at her collar. “It’s too bright, Hank.”

He was nervous, but he could see that his nerves were nothing compared to hers. He sat down and tugged at her hand until she sat stiffly next to him. “You don’t want me to see you.”

“I don’t even want to see me.”

Hank patted her leg. “My mother sometimes talks about not being a young woman anymore, and my father always tells her that doesn’t matter. He didn’t fall in love with the young shell she used to live in, he fell for the soul inside.”

Gretchen snorted. “That’s great, but we don’t even know each other.”

Hank smiled. “No, we don’t. And we might not ever know each other.” He went to the window and pulled the curtains open wide. “Come here.” She hesitated, but she joined him at the window. “Look at those stars, Gretchen. Look at this universe. It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

“Very.”

“Now look at me. I’m an overgrown stork with a pair of St Bernards for eyebrows.” She laughed deeply at that, and Hank felt his heart swell at her joy. “I’m not the most beautiful man in this world. I don’t know if he exists. But I’m the man here in this room with you, and I’m willing to do what people have been doing since they first looked up at those stars. What makes you think you need to be the most beautiful woman?”

She sobered. “It’s different for boys.”

“It’s different for everybody. Everybody’s got a cross to bear. If you knew mine, you’d go running for the hills, and that’s a fact.”

She looked at him oddly. “I doubt that.”

“You would. But lucky for me, you don’t know mine. And if yours is that you’re a little chubby, well, that just means you’ll be fun to hug.”

She wrinkled her nose. “I still don’t want to see myself. I don’t even look at myself in the mirror.”

“Okay. Okay.” He looked out the window once more, at the twinkling stars that winked in the inky sky. “Turn it off.” The light went off instantly. 

But the room didn’t turn pitch black. Thin moonlight filtered into the room, and left just enough light for Hank to make out the outline of everything in the room. He made his way to the bed, peeling out of his uniform with a confidence he didn’t quite feel, until he was standing belly to belly with her. “You can leave, if you don’t like the window open. But I want to see you.” 

She looked at the floor, before shyly tugging at her sweater. “This is what I came for,” she said quietly.

“I’ll try to make it nice,” he said just as quietly.

She looked up at him, and the moonlight caught the glint of straight white teeth in her broadly smiling mouth. “You already are, Hank.” 

* * *

Hank awoke alone in the sumptuous room. He didn’t mind. He hadn’t actually intended to stay and sleep all night, but Gretchen had been pleasantly warm and insisted on playing with his not-quite regulation length waves until darkness took him. 

He sat up and stretched. So. No longer a virgin, not in the way that would count with the boys in the barracks. He thought about her soft touch, and how she eventually grew demanding and aggressive, and how the real difference between boys and girls was what got damp when and where. She was a pleasant memory.

She was _not_ a strong, silent boy in Switzerland. 

The memory of Zurich sent a now familiar heat and heft down to his groin, and Hank laughed in spite (or because?) of his despair. He could be with a woman. He could make the moves. He could please her. He could take pleasure with her. But he was never going to crave a woman’s body the way he was craving the hard, flat figure pressed hard to him in the late afternoon, a train ride away.

“Well if that don’t take the tar off the roof,” he muttered, and rolled out of bed.


	5. Chapter 5

Hank expected awkwardness when he returned to base. Surely he’d be mobbed by rowdy, cackling soldiers wanting all the sordid details. Or he’d have to face a red faced, downtrodden Gretchen, pretending to hide her body behind a couple of her svelte German girlfriends. He expected something or someone to get in his face or under his skin, and make a big stink of the whole weekend.

The other shoe never dropped. 

He didn’t even see Gretchen during the first few days of his return, having been thrust back into his duties at full throttle. Rather than spending his time with the rest of the men on the base, the small group he was part of was shuttled off most of the time, to resume fire training in the abandoned ruins at the outskirts of the city. From sun up to sun down, the men wrangled with heavy hoses, crumbling old stone and rotted wood, barely containable blazes, and the wrath of the elderly locals who occasionally came to shout words that Hank didn’t actually understand, but whose intent came through loud and clear.

By the time the group trudged back to base, no one had any energy left for anything except crawling into their bunks and dying for the night. Where the rest of boys still seemed to have half an eye out for the frauleins after dinner, the green cadets newly assigned to the fire brigade rose as a single entity and spread like locust, hell bent on nothing but sleep. 

Hank found the extra work strenuous, but doubly welcome - he didn’t have to worry about modulating his reactions to the bawdy talk that bounced around the base because no one talking to him gave a good goddamn about sex anymore, and he didn’t have to worry about what he was going to do with himself when it was time to muster out. He’d already made Private Second Class, and was well on his way to First Class as soon as time would allow, and was being groomed for leadership in the fire brigade.

He’d have been happy to spend the remaining three years of his tour in a work induced coma, but with time came experience and stamina. In only a few weeks, he’d adjusted to the new workload, just like he’d adjusted to the intense work load that had come with basic training. By season’s end, a good half of the new men assigned to the fire brigade were able to resume somewhat of a normal routine at the end of their daily duties. They’d proved themselves worthy of their assignment, and so were rewarded with a permanent slot on the team for the duration of their individual postings. Some of the men refused the honor, having signed up with the image of the gun wielding fighter in mind, but Hank was one of the few who welcomed the opportunity with open arms. 

He still pretended to be too exhausted to fraternize with the boys in his barracks at the end of the day. He wanted to be left alone, to read letters from his family and to daydream quietly about a sweetly shocking encounter in Zurich. He didn’t want to have to navigate the minefield of feelings that came with rejecting (or being rejected by) a girl who knew perfectly well she was a pity lay. He didn’t want to examine his own feelings about being a pity lay himself. He didn’t want to think, he didn’t want to feel, he just wanted to keep his head down and do good work.

Only, doing good work sometimes meant showing up to house parties to wish fellow soldiers farewell, gatherings that overflowed with boisterous young men and hopeful young women on the prowl for an army man. Sometimes it meant being in close proximity with the brass, and their phony charming wives, and their reluctant children. Sometimes it meant remembering that some of those reluctant children weren’t children at all, but grown women who ought to be starting families of their own. Sometimes it meant encountering those women after a one night stand, and acknowledging the deflowered elephant in the room. 

Hank didn’t know the man getting shipped back to the States, other than he was a low level officer, with just enough importance to force everyone to show up for at least a few minutes of well wishing. He didn’t know most of the civilians at the shindig either, though he’d seen them often enough through the gate, milling about on the family housing grounds as if they were still back home on Main Street, U.S.A. He smiled vacantly at everyone, saluted when necessary, and nursed a slowly warming beer while he counted down the minutes before he could tear out of the place without pissing off anybody important.

“Hello, Hank.”

Hank jumped at the small voice at his shoulder, and whirled around to see a cowed, red faced Gretchen huddling nearby. He swallowed his surprise. “Hi, Gretchen.”

She opened her mouth like she was going to speak, but snapped it shut again so hard he heard her teeth clack together. She shook her head, a small, quick, frazzled movement, and shuffled back a step.

“What’s wrong?”

A quiet, hysterical little bubble of laughter escaped before Gretchen could hold it in, and her down cast eyes became wide and round. 

Hank grabbed her by the elbow and steered her through the crowd, scanning the place for some place quiet, some place private, some place where the poor girl might let herself open up without exposing herself to the entire base. He found a door cracked to a dark, empty room, and shoved her inside before shutting the door behind them.

The flick of a light switch revealed a child’s room, probably a girl’s room, judging by the number of stuffed animals scattered across the floor, and the lack of warmongering toys in the bunch. The yellow glow of the overhead light and the gathering of plush toys made Gretchen look like an oversized child. She seemed to shrink even further into herself. 

Hank sighed and tried a different approach. “I haven’t seen you around. You been up to something lately?”

At first he thought she wouldn’t answer. She just stood there, tugging on her cardigan sleeves and staring at the floor. But he waited quietly, and his patience was soon rewarded. “Have you been up to something?”

Hank blinked. “Uh… no…? Just my duties? What do you mean?”

Gretchen frowned, just a tiny crease between her eyebrows. “You’re not avoiding me?”

Hank laughed. “Well, yeah, but that’s because I’m avoiding everybody. I’m tired!” 

“Oh.” She looked around the room for the first time, before settling on the edge of the bed and grabbing a stuffed monkey from the menagerie on the floor. “So - no, never mind.”

“What?” Hank asked. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What doesn’t matter?”

Gretchen groaned and flopped back on the bed. “Can we just forget this whole thing and go back to never running into each other?”

“Forget _what_ whole thing?” Hank sat on the bed and leaned over Gretchen. “Would you just talk to me for crying out loud?”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “If you weren’t so tired, would you have called on me?”

Hank blushed. “I don’t know. Probably not.”

She turned her head away and huffed. “I knew it.”

“Well don’t get sore at me - you were the one who disappeared after we went to sleep! How was I supposed to know you wanted me to talk to you later?”

“You’re the boy - boys are always supposed to call after if they like a girl!”

Hank jumped up and yanked the door open. “Well excuse me for not brushing up on my what happens after you fuck a girl for the first time etiquette! Next time I lose my virginity I’ll be sure to know exactly what to do!” He stalked out and slammed the door hard enough to shake the floor.

People were looking in his direction when he reentered the main party, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care if he offended the entire base with his outburst, he didn’t care if he offended the hosts or the guest of honor by leaving, and he didn’t care if Gretchen Whatshername lived or died. He wanted to hole up in his bunk and be left the hell alone, damn it.

He didn’t make it two whole steps off the porch before he heard her calling his name. Hank picked up the pace, but he heard the slam of the front door, and then more clearly, “Wait, Hank! Hank, I’m sorry! Wait!”

He couldn’t make himself keep walking. But he kept the scowl on his face, and hoped like hell it scared her into leaving him be. It didn’t. She drew up short and gaped at him for a moment, but she bit her lip and reached for one of his hands with both of hers. “I didn’t think about how foolish or mean that would sound, Hank. I’m sorry. Don’t be mad. Please?”

“Okay,” Hank said, scowling all the while.

Gretchen looked lost. “Do you… you think we could maybe see each other? Sometimes? You know, when you get a break.”

Hank found his anger dissipating without his permission, and he frowned deeper, trying force his face to hold on to the last fragments of irritation. “Only if you don’t mind me hollering in the middle of the street for you, since I don’t exactly know how to find you.”

To his surprise, she laughed and wrapped her arms around his unyielding body. “I’ll give you my address and phone number.” She pulled back and looked at him with a keen, pleading expression. “But promise you’ll call? If you don’t want to call, just tell me now, and I won’t make a fuss, I promise.”

The last of his resistance melted into nothing. “Give me your number. It might take me a few days.” *** In the end it took a week. But Hank began to notice that some of the couples he’d seen at the party were pairing off again for a few hours on the town after their duties were logged, and for once he wasn’t looking forward to spending his downtime alone. 

He went to his bunk and found the paper that he’d scratched Gretchen’s address onto. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to call ahead or just drop in. If he called and she wasn’t there, he’d never get the nerve up again. If he went and she wasn’t there, he’d be mad that he’d made the trip for nothing and exposed himself to a commanding officer. But if he called and she was there, that didn’t mean she would go out with him, nor would she necessarily let him come sit with her in the living room, which, frankly, would have been good enough for him. If he went up there and she was there, he doubted seriously she would send him packing, no matter how busy she was.

After several seconds of staring blindly at the paper, Hank decided that decision making was for the birds, and that he was going to leave his approach up to the hands of fate. He dug in his wallet for a coin. “Heads I call…” He tossed the coin in the air, watched it peak, and caught it at eye level in a clenched fist. He unfurled his fist slowly, revealing the wheat crown that bracketed the words One Cent. “…and tails I walk.”

Gretchen’s house was one of several clones in the family living units. The only difference was that while every other house on the block was some muted awful shade of sickly flesh, the house with her address was painted a sharp, brilliant white. Everything else was exactly the same - perfectly manicured lawn, perfectly shiny US government issue vehicle, perfectly balanced and maintained US flag flying in the breeze.

Hank forced himself up the concrete walkway to the porch, and reminded himself that he was there with an invitation. He could approach this officer’s home, because there was a young lady inside waiting for him to call on her, and he’d be remiss if he didn’t try at least once.

He knocked, a little too loudly he thought, and locked his knees so he wouldn’t turn tail and run. He was a soldier and a firefighter in the United States Army. Cowardice was not an option.

An older, heavy set woman with kind eyes and long, black hair opened the door. The resemblance to Gretchen was uncanny. “Can I help you, friend?” The resemblance wasn’t just visual - she had the same springy Texas twang as Gretchen.

“Is Gretchen home?”

The woman blinked, like she couldn’t believe her ears. “May I ask who’s calling on her?”

Hank smiled, and hunched his shoulders a little, so he wouldn’t tower so over the lady. “My name is Hank. She asked me to call, but I was feeling jittery and wanted to take a walk.”

“You’re a GI,” the woman said.

“Yes, ma’am. Private First Class Henry Stanley.”

A look of wonder flickered over the woman’s face, before she went back to her mask of indifference. She studied him for a moment before opening the door a little wider. “Come in out of the cold,” she said.

Hank thanked her and stepped into a warm front hall. He smelled chicken and bread and wondered if he’d interrupted the dinner hour. He bit his lip and silently willed the woman to accept his unspoken, intangible apology for any faux pas he was committing in her foyer. The woman gestured to the opening behind her, where a couch and a pair of arm chairs were arranged artfully around a roaring fireplace. “Take a seat, Private Stanley. I’ll be just a minute.”

Hank crept into the living room and folded himself into the armchair nearest the foyer. He could hear the woman’s footsteps somewhere in the house, while she called for Gretchen. The house quickly grew quiet, and all he could hear was the crackle of burning wood on the hearth. The silence soon became unnerving, and he gripped the arms of the chair to keep from popping up and running from the house. 

When he thought he couldn’t stand the wait another second, the pounding of feet overhead startled him from his tailspin, and he jumped to his feet.

The footsteps never quite faded, just ebbed as they moved through the upper floor of the house, to the stairs in some unknown area, and then finally grew louder again as Gretchen appeared from some turn off by the front hall. “Hank! You came!” She threw herself into his arms, toppling them onto the sofa in her enthusiasm.

“Gretchen! You were not raised in a barn!”

Gretchen giggled wildly and pushed herself off Hank. “Sorry, Mama. I just…”

Hank sat up, expecting the woman to glare at him and demand he leave, but she was smiling almost as goofily as Gretchen. “I’m sure you were. You going to invite the Private to stay for dinner? Or are you making your escape before your father gets here?”

Gretchen looked back at Hank like a deer in headlights. “Um, did you want to have dinner with us?” Her voice came out like a mouse who’d been sucking a tank of helium. 

Instead of answering Gretchen, he turned to her mother. “Ma’am, would you be terribly offended if I declined what smells like a heavenly meal to take your daughter into town for the evening? I promise to have her safely home at whatever hour you’d prefer, if she has a curfew.”

“I don’t,” Gretchen grumbled.

“She doesn’t,” her mother said, “but her father might worry if she’s out too late without calling - even if she’s with a fast moving recruit who’s likely to go home an officer.”

Hank tried to puzzle out what the heck Gretchen told her mother, while the girl grabbed his hand and dragged him to the foyer. “We’ll be back by midnight, Mama. I’ll call if I’m going to be late.” By the time Gretchen finished speaking, they were out the door and halfway to the sidewalk. 

* * *

Two years passed in the blink of an eye, and slower than a faucet of molasses in January.

When he was on duty, Hank was a star, the likes of which the Army had never seen before and likely wouldn’t see again. He went from a lowly grunt fresh off the bus in dusty California to commanding the fire brigade at the base that kept a watchful eye over post-war West Germany. Many officers hinted that if he chose to continue on past his contracted commission, he might be groomed to be a commissioned officer himself. While Hank worked, life was beautiful. 

When he was off duty, he either had to hide from everyone to have a moment to himself, or he was escorting the surprisingly gregarious Gretchen around most of Munich. She was vivacious and full of life, always quick with a smile and words of comfort and encouragement for whatever ailed him. She was affectionate, and loved to lean into him, to cuddle him, to hold his hands, to brush kisses on his cheek whenever she could get his face down to her level. And she bubbled with delight whenever Hank referred to her as his girlfriend, which meant she spent as much time as possible trying to maneuver him into conversations where he’d have to do exactly that. When Hank wasn’t working, life was one long, drawn out, awkward conversation.

He thought he’d have been relieved to have been obviously and publicly paired off with a young lady - especially the one his comrades had specifically set him up with - but instead of relieving the increasingly simplistic problem of keeping the men from wondering why he didn’t chase girls, instead he had the difficulty of being expected to constantly entertain the one girl AND keeping the men updated on the success of his love life. He was surprised by how many of them opened up to him, either privately looking for advice on how to handle any number of problems he couldn’t begin to fathom, or in macho aggressive groups out to prove who had the most… satisfied… girl in West Germany. All the subterfuge and posturing made Hank all the more exhausted, and all the more desperate for time to himself, and that gave him an air of standoffishness that made everyone press more for his company.

Still, it was nice to have someone bring him hot chocolate on a cold evening, and listen to him ramble about missing the palm trees back home, just because. As much as she exhausted him, Hank couldn’t help the little flutter of joy that sparked through him whenever he saw Gretchen trotting toward him. He also couldn’t help the blanket of dread that immediately followed, but he stuffed that down and hid it the best he could. Another year in the service, and he’d fly away home, and let time and distance do the dirty work of severing his attachment to Gretchen. She was a sweet and understanding girl. She could forgive him for that.

* * *

One evening, while drinking in a local bierhaus with some of the soldiers and all their girlfriends, a fight erupted amongst the locals. At first, the Americans steered clear of the trouble, until one of the brawlers got a little too close to them for comfort. The fight went from inconveniently amusing to potentially deadly in an instant. Hank hung back, more concerned with helping the ladies to get out of the building in a hurry than in being court-martialed for disorderly conduct. 

In the pandemonium, a cry went up, more piercing and urgent than the rest of the din - fire! Panic ripped through the crowd, and people began to stampede.

The guys looked at each other, and seemed to be on the verge of joining the stampede. If he’d had the time, Hank might have been embarrassed or ashamed of these so called soldiers. But fire service drilled one thing into him - time wasted was life wasted. He called the boys to attention, barking orders in a voice cultivated by months of training. Together, they created a path of safety for the terrified civilians, and smothered the blaze before the local fire department showed up. Though the restaurant was essentially lost and a few people were knocked up either in the original fight or in the panic to escape, everyone lived to tell about the American GIs who braved the fire.

In a matter of days, Hank found himself the center of attention. The town council wanted to take his picture for the local newspaper, the family who owned the burned building wanted to invite him and the men who’d been with him to a thank you brunch, and the wife of the man who’d lost his business in the fire wanted to kiss Hank’s face for getting the owner out safely. Hank was flattered, if a little dumbfounded by all the attention. He’d wanted to escape the flames as much as anyone else that night - he just happened to have the right skill set to make sure he (and everyone else) could.

The attention didn’t stop there, though. Suddenly, all the girls who’d hung around hoping to catch the attention of any passing soldier, all made a beeline for him. And the other soldiers seemed to jockey for position next to Hank, like he was a big man on campus. The officers seemed to know Hank, greeted him by name when they saw him, like it was just a matter of time before he joined their ranks, so to speak. 

He soon learned why - Hank was decorated with a medal for exemplary service in front of the entire base. The locals crowded around the perimeter fencing to watch, and peppered the air with cheers that Hank only half caught. He was too busy trying to stand at attention while Gretchen’s father pinned the medal to his chest. Hank pretended not to recognize the captain, though he was sure that he had a giant sign painted on his forehead that marked him as the jerk who was using the captain’s daughter. Hank struggled to keep his attention on the ceremony, and not to sink into despair over the myriad ways he was probably going to be ripped apart privately for putting his daughter in danger in the first place. 

When the ceremony ended, Hank scrambled away, wanting nothing more than to hide in his bunk until all the attention blew over, so that he could get back to his life. But before he could get to his barracks, Gretchen fell into step next to him. “I need to talk to you, Hank.”

“I’m beat. Can it wait until tomorrow?” 

She skipped ahead and planted herself in his path. “My folks really like you. But you can probably tell.” She gestured to the medal on his chest.

“I figured your father was just doing his duty, because the townsfolk are making a fuss. He’s probably not too happy I had you in harm’s way, I would imagine.”

Gretchen smiled tightly. “He’s glad I was with you. Things happen. I could get hurt anywhere.” She looked at the ground and swore softly. “He’s not gonna be happy with me, actually,” she said almost as softly.

“Why is that?”

The silence stretched on forever as she stared at the ground, like it held the secrets of the universe, secrets she could unlock if only she glared at it hard and long enough. When she looked up, her face was pinched with some unknown pain. “You have any plans, when you finish your tour, Hank?”

Ho boy. He’d wondered when she was going to get around to trying to pin him down. “Not as such, just yet. I’ve got some time to go before I really have to think about it, though.”

She narrowed her eyes at him. “Nothing to think about, Hank. You’re in charge of the fire brigade for a reason.”

“Uh… I suppose so…”

“You are. I- I saw your face, Hank. You were made for this life. No, not this life. That one.”

“I’m sorry, Gretchen, I’m not following you.”

She shook her head. “You’ve never looked at me that way, you know. Not once.”

“I’m sorry?”

She threw her hands up. “You have no idea. You’re so clueless. You try so hard, and you just don’t… I feel like I’m kicking a puppy, here.”

Hank laughed nervously. “I’ve got a pretty thick skin, Gretchen, I’m not insulted.”

She smiled back sadly. “That’s because I still haven’t made myself clear. You’ll probably hate me, actually, but I think it’s better for both of us.”

“Why on earth would I-”

“I want to see other boys.”

Hank snapped his mouth shut in surprise. 

“Wait,” she said. “That’s not it. I want… I want to leave here. Leave home, so to speak.”

“I am so confused,” Hank said. 

Her laughter was a little giddy, maybe hysterical. "Hank, you’re a good man. You’ve been so nice to me, talking to me, taking me with you, treating me like a girl would want to be treated. But I knew you had other things you wanted to do, there were other places you wanted to be. I ignored it because you were ignoring it, and I thought that since you were being so wonderful, it would be rude of me not to accept the gift of your company - especially since you don’t give it out to just anybody.

“But when the fire broke out the other night, you went from being your usual shy self to… something else. You came alive. Almost like there was nothing more important in the world than that fire. Than putting out that fire.”

“Gretchen. There _was_ nothing more important in the world at that moment. It could have killed us all, with the way everybody was acting!”

“No, Hank, that’s not… You looked like your life had meaning. Like this was what you were put on this Earth to do. I want… I want to find that kind of thing out for myself. And I want you to be able to fulfill your destiny without holding you back while I look for mine, you know?”

“No, I don’t.”

She nodded. “I know. You don’t understand now. But you will. I don’t know if you’ll ever be able to forgive me. I hope you can, one day.”

“So… you’re breaking up with me?”

“More like setting you free to do what you will. I made a decision, Hank. I’m going to travel, do some hitchhiking with some friends. I’ve spent my whole life tied to my parents’ apron strings, and now I’ve met you, and I can see myself falling into the trap of trying to set up house and home for you, and I haven’t seen anything anywhere. I don’t know what I’m made of. I wanna find out what makes me tick. What made me want to throw all my eggs in your basket. For all I know, it’s just because you’re the first boy that ever paid me any mind, and you might not even want a girl like me when you get back home.”

“So you _are_ breaking up with me.”

“If that’s the way you want to see it. I just… if I don’t take the time to figure this out now, then either I’ll end up an old maid with no other prospects, or we might end up married and resentful because I never took the time to find out what kind of a life I could find for myself that doesn’t depend on a man who might not come home from work one day.”

“Why would I not come home from work? I’m not the kinda guy who goes out for cigarettes and doesn’t come back!”

“Let me rephrase that. A man who comes home from work in a hearse.”

Hank shook his head, completely bewildered. “You’re going steady with a soldier, but you don’t want to keep going steady because the soldier might be a fireman… I don’t even think of myself as a fireman! This is crazy, Gretchen!”

She took both his hands in hers and pressed his knuckles to her lips. “You’re no soldier. That’s why I bothered with you. But now I gotta let go, because you’re a fireman through and through. I’d heard all about it every night with my folks. And I finally saw it for myself. You’re a fireman. And I’m in your way.” She let him go, gave him a watery smile, and stepped out of his path.


	6. Chapter 6

Discontentment plagued Hank like a steam cloud, bringing a damp, stuffy heat with him everywhere he went. The weeks went by in a monotonous haze of orders and exertion. If the other men had any interest in connecting with him again, he never knew. They couldn’t break through the haze of his silent anger.

There were moments when he wanted to lash out, but the thought of returning to his parents with a dishonorable discharge kept his rage to a quiet, nonviolent simmer. Instead, he poured the energy of his otherwise inexpressible anger into fire training. At the end of his tour, Hank was discharged as an officer, complete with a letter of recommendation to any fire service that wanted him, and an offer to stay on with the Army.

Flattering though he found the offer, Hank couldn’t wait to put distance between himself and Germany. He didn’t want to think about the secret side of himself he’d uncovered, or the bashing his ego had taken when he was turned down by a girl who’d everyone - including, to his shame, Hank - had thought was a pity fuck. He just wanted to get back California, where he knew his fledgling career would give him new status.

* * *

_Coachella Valley_

Palm Springs did not need a new fire fighting recruit. Palm Springs particularly did not need a Dust Bowl transplant claiming to have some magical training to be had out in the cold, damp climate of the Rhine. Neither did Indio, Cathedral City, or anyone else in Riverside County. 

Hank’s return from the Army was painfully anti-climactic in other ways, too. There had been surprisingly little fuss when he’d landed. Only Frank had shown up, and that was because he didn’t have to be at work for another hour, unlike Ma and Pop and Michael. Charlotte and her husband didn’t come around to see him for several days, because they were too busy with their new baby, and Michael was strangely absent, always off with a group of friends Hank didn’t recognize. Only Susan ever seemed to be around, and she was more annoying than anything else, an unfortunate side effect of their age difference and the pressure for Hank to get back into the swing of pulling his weight around the house.

When the initial job hunt didn’t pan out, Hank decided to do the next best thing, and work on minor repairs to the house. If nothing else, he could make sure that the little day to day annoyances were dealt with, until he could find some viable work. He didn’t make a fuss about the repairs, didn’t point them out to anyone. He just took care of whatever he saw with whatever he could find - leaky faucets, squeaking floorboards, rusty door hinges - and scoured the newspaper for odd jobs to tide him over until he could find something more permanent.

He’d thought he was keeping a low enough profile, and was doing a decent job of improving the house, until one morning he overheard his parents talking about the cost of living. Hank hung back, surprised by the venomous way Pop spoke about his being back in the States: Hank was a lazy, good-for-nothing layabout who ran from his family to play toy soldier and now expected his old, tired parents to keep feeding him. And Ma said nothing to reproach Pop’s nasty words. She just grunted agreeably.

He’d run from Germany, back to the Coachella Valley, to escape the pain and humiliation of rejection. But Gretchen’s gentle letdown was nothing to this. When Hank finally composed himself enough to make some noise, and entered the kitchen, his parents wore their now usual wan, tired, but welcoming smiles. Had he not heard his father with his own ears, Hank would never have believed his folks thought so badly of him. 

Returning to the nest was a mistake.

Hank didn’t bother with house repairs anymore. Instead he took good chunk of his mustering out pay, and over the next few days used it on long distance calls all over Southern California and Arizona, looking for a firehouse that would take a young, decorated soldier with hose experience. The calls, though still mostly lukewarm at best, were far more promising than the slammed doors he’d encountered in his unwelcoming town. Where Riverside had sent him packing almost instantly, most of the departments he’d called offered to put him on their waiting lists, with promises to call back the instant they were offering entrance exams.

His second-to-last call was to the City of Los Angeles, a long shot that he’d put off as silly. The city had no classes coming any time soon, but he was directed to the County’s service, as they were so large, and always desperate for manpower. He made his final call, certain that he would be told to try again in a few weeks. Instead, he was immediately connected with a fellow who asked what prompted his interest in their fire department, what kind of documentation he had from the Army, and how soon could he get them a copy of his discharge and recommendation letter. He tamped down on the hope rising in his chest, and mailed off copies first thing the next morning. 

He couldn’t bring himself to call around anymore after that. He headed out to the date farms, looking for day work, and usually came home empty handed, hungry as an ox and madder than a bull, but he stayed out of his father’s way, and never heard another word about his being a burden to the house.

It took less than a month to get an envelope from the County of Los Angeles Fire Department. Within was a brief letter. It was from the same fellow he’d spoken to on the phone. If he could get himself up to L.A. before the week was out, they’d have a space for him in the next class rotation. 

A few weeks before, Hank would have fretted about telling his family that he was going to leave again. He’d have wanted to gather everyone to him, to reassure them that he loved them and was already missing them, and that he would be back as often as he could. Now he couldn’t wait to pack his bag and get the hell away. He thought about asking Frank or Michael for a ride to the bus station, but that meant waiting for one of them to come home, and possibly for someone else to come with the car, if neither of them had it, and that meant explanations and family meetings… Hank wanted no part of it. The sun was still high in the sky, and he had plenty of money left from his stint in the Army. He could do something the Stanleys would never have dreamed of before, something his parents would surely scold him for if they were ever to find out. But they wouldn’t. 

Hank went to the phone, and called himself a cab. 


End file.
